November 22, 2003

Wanna have a happy Thanksgiving? Skip the trip to Michael's and come get your holiday crafting supplies from my front yard.

Across the street, the spinsters must be preparing for Christmas. The front is all clear for a nativity scene and some florescent Santas. Next door looks like Easter. They still have green grass and are maintaining flowering plants in November. It looks very Thanksgivingy in my yard. There isn't an inch of grass that isn't covered by leaf material.

I remember the good ol' days of kindergarten when wll my time was spent creating arts 'n crafts, taking naps, peeing my pants, and eating snacks. For Thanksgiving, we took leaves that looked sufficiently enough like a turkey body, glued them to construction paper, and drew the turkey head and legs around it. We would then write "Hapy Thinksgiven" on the top, sprinkle it with macaroni and glitter, fold it up, and stick it in our backpacks until Christmas break when Mom cleaned the gooey monstrosities out.

There are enough leaves in my yard to create such cards--maybe enough for each North Carolinian kindergardener to make 5. So...like 150 katrillion leaves.

They're not fun leaves that you see in the comic strips in which the carefreee youngun's jump into them and Dad goes, "Ohhhh. Son. I just raked those. Now I have to rake them again." These are nasty, sharp, bug-infested wet, moldy leaves that make them extremely uncomfortable should someone fall on them. In fact, if there was a way for me to create some devious plan in which a certain ex-boyfriend could come in contact with said leaves, that would be okay.

Yes, I'm trying real hard to get someone else other than myself clean up the yard, as you can see from previous posts. The fact that if nay raking gets done it gets done by me is beginning to piss me off a tad. I guess hubby figures that since I'm home almost all day that I should do it. Whatthefuckever. Fair is fair and he's twice my size--could probably rake in less half the time with his huge stride and sweep.

He could at least not criticize my rake job when he gets home. Who the hell criticizes a rake job, anyway? It's like criticizing a blow job: as long as there are no teeth, you should be happy you're getting one.

Posted by Tiffany at November 22, 2003 08:46 AM